The thing is that I’ve always known

These February days when sky

Loses its lustre like a fish’s eye.

These days! I can still see

My mother white-faced in a chair

Carried through white snow to the doctor’s car…

What I first saw was grey

Or mezzotint, perhaps, but you

Set off with colours, green and red and blue

Out in the garden under trees

Loose clothes aflutter in the breeze:  

An August baby greets the world at ease

And that is why the sun shines through

Your optimistic take on who,

and what on earth the world is coming to –

And sometimes why you need to use

A smudge of February haze

To mitigate the keenness of your gaze.